


Dreams, Watched Over

by JoifulDreaming



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Crowley is Nonbinary, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-17
Updated: 2020-05-17
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:07:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24241066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JoifulDreaming/pseuds/JoifulDreaming
Summary: Crowley dreams, Aziraphale keeps watch.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 36





	Dreams, Watched Over

They should feel the heat, pressing in on them from all sides. The flames licking at their clothes and skin. No, it wouldn’t burn them- they didn’t believe that was possible and so it wouldn’t be. But, still they should feel it.

They should be choking on the smokey air, filled with stories never to be read again. No, they don’t need to breathe, but after 6,000 years they’ve become accustomed to it. The heat and the debris should be filling their lungs and blocking the oxygen.

They should feel their throat ripping, going hoarse from their cries. They remember that from their fall: screaming until they couldn’t make noise anymore, but still trying. The pain of it.

No, all they feel is the cold. Starting in their chest and wrapping around them like coils, tightening. Their best friend, lost. The only being providing any true consistency in their existence, burned and gone. His home, gone. Their home, gone. Because home is not a place, but a person. Home is bright sea-colored eyes and fidgeting hands. Home is laughter over dinner and drinks and drinks and drinks… How can one laugh and dine alone?

Then, warmth. Weight, comforting weight. They dare to take a deep breath, with lungs and throat that should be cracked and broken. Yet, they’re not. And on that breath, they are suddenly engulfed in the smell of… friend. The flames, suddenly gone. The heat, too. The cold, seeping out of them like sand from a sieve. 

They settle, their very bones relaxing in the warmth and comfort of the smell of home, weighing gently on their shoulders. There should have been heat, there had been cold, but now there is only the cozy feeling of home.

***

He looked up from his book when he heard the whimpers. Across the room Crowley was twitching in their sleep, face screwed up like they were about to cry. Was it physical pain they were feeling? Emotional? Aziraphale couldn’t tell. Should he wake them? That hadn’t gone very well in the past.

Crossing the room, he plucked up the old tan crocheted afghan that he liked to curl up in on particularly cold nights. No, he didn’t need it, but it was comforting all the same. There was nothing a cup of cocoa, a cozy blanket, and a good book couldn’t fix.

Approaching of his friend he winced as he saw how they were curled as far as they could get into the back of the sofa, still twitching in their sleep. How long had this gone on without his notice? He bent and gently lay the blanket over them, tucking it in around all their gangly limbs. Smoothing it over their torso and making sure it covered all the way up to their neck.

And watched.

A deep breath and then all the tension was gone.

He sat in the chair opposite now, ready with more warmth to fight the cold if need be.

**Author's Note:**

> Written the day after someone in my life told me that gender neutral pronouns can be too hard. It's not too hard, lovelies.


End file.
